Arthur's Human Heart
by ManarInMoon
Summary: As Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, the last thing on Arthur's mind was how truly alone he was. It was something he got used to living with, but never managed nor cared enough to change...She changed it for him... (Its meant to be short. Doesn't mean its bad. Still a slow-burn.)
1. Prologue:

NOTE: Protagonists best portrayed as Jesse Williams and Emma Decody  
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my oc and the plot-changes.

XXXXX

After the nuclear bombs dropped the year 2077, most of the world was eradicated. Chaos consumed all. The radiation wreaked havoc. Animals became monstrous. Plant-life was scarce and unhealthy. People, changed. Some were Ghouls: full-body skin as though badly burned, lack of hair, soggy eyes, and an extended lifetime. Some were Feral Ghouls: much like Ghouls in addition to the fact that they were mindless and lethal. And some were super-mutants: decreased brain-usage, enormous size, green in color and highly violent.

Our story takes place about two hundred years later in a techno-religious military order located in the West and operating across the ruins of post-war North America, with its roots stemming from the United States Armed Forces. They are called the Brotherhood of Steel (commonly abbreviated to BoS). The Brotherhood has been an influential group across history.

He was sixteen when he was appointed Elder by the West Coast, the youngest in history to lead the Brotherhood. After the death of Elder Owyn Lyons, and his only daughter shortly afterwards, The East Coast Brotherhood faced a leadership crisis, repeatedly appointing and deposing numerous ineffectual Elders until Arthur was finally chosen. It was no surprise too. He was, after all, the last descendant of the legendary Roger Maxson, founder of the Brotherhood of Steel. Arthur's father was also a high-ranking Paladin serving just outside the New California Republic. But those weren't the only reasons he was chosen.

When his father was killed in battle, Arthur was four, and his mother, Jessica, (who had cancer and kept it long enough from her son and husband) had decided to send Arthur to Elder Owyn Lyons to raise and train. He was six at the time, a squire, shy, quiet, kept to himself, but the atmosphere of ethics, strength, and goals the Brotherhood abided to excited and enchanted him. He found he was pulled into it all, eager to learn, get a piece of the action. He was smart, driven. At the age of 10, he killed a super-mutant in a training mission. It was either the hours of practice with a firearm, or sheer beginner's luck. He owes his left-cheek scar, at the age of 13, to a fight that he led alone against a Deathclaw (a large, agile and strong species of mutant Jackson's Chameleon). It was also a training mission gone south, and he foolishly, yet bravely, took matters into his own hands, using his brains more often than his physical strength (that was yet to grow with his age). It was that same year that Owyn, his mentor and, at the time, Elder, had died of old age.

For the coming three years, Arthur had been making a name for himself. Because of his love for knowledge, he was well-read, observant, careful to spot mistakes (his or people's) and refrain from repeating them. He looked into everything: history, science, technology, phycology, literature. He kept track of his combat skills, and how to maintain a strong personality. But alas, Arthur was only human. The attention and encouragement from those around, along with his teen-age, got to his head. He developed a well-hidden, but still there, trait: arrogance. He also became quite judgmental of others; thankfully still, keeping it all to himself, unless he just had to say something to a certain seriously dumb or foolish human being.

For those same three years, Owyn's daughter, Sarah, who was 28 at the time, had taken on the role of Elder. Once, Arthur fancied her, but time proved she was not fit to lead, and Arthur was of reason rather than compassion. He lost interest; not to mention, she was twice his age. He was right though; she wasn't fit. After her three-year reign, poor planning for an operation got her killed. Arthur was a part of that mission, and when things went south, he stepped up under the pressure, and took lead, saving many of his comrades' lives in the process. When most safely returned to base, they boasted of his actions. Word got out to the Elders of the West Coast, but still, due to his young age, they appointed someone else. When their choice proved another fail, and the Elder was often mentally challenged by Arthur, they could no longer deny the authority, respect, and potential the sixteen-year-old wielded.

They did not regret their decision then. With his lead, Arthur had managed to successfully defeat the large threat of the super-mutant leader, Shephard, and broker peace with the long-standing Brotherhood Outcasts, bringing them back into the fold. With time, he had established a mid-line between the ways of his mentor, who was using technology to help others, as well as the traditional Brotherhood approach of preserving advanced technology to protect people from abusing it.

With his ways, Arthur had won the respect and admiration of his followers through his numerous exploits.

Four years down his reign, _she_ joined in, a twenty-one-year-old named Claire Foster, an initiate that rose quickly in the ranks. After serving for four years under Arthur (whom, as all, she **greatly** admired) he had granted her the title of Paladin.

She'd come to the Brotherhood in search of a purpose to her life. Her father was a drunk who died early, and her mother did lap-dances for a living.

She had to get out and away from her old life, find a new one. Very little people knew her story; she was ashamed of it.

Many Brotherhood soldiers were smart, capable, strong, obedient; **separate** in terms, but she was all combined, as were a mere handful of others. Perhaps the first thing he noticed was stark, was her smile…It was stupid, but she did it a lot. She smiled, genuinely, at many, and almost everyone, including at him. All squires adored her. Many men tried their luck with her, and Arthur never found out why all failed. Many women were jealous of that.

Arthur himself simply found it strange, non-fitting in a place where all was tough, strong, with goals to achieve, she found time to lend a hand, be nice, and **smile** of all things.

Perhaps it would've been okay if it was shared amongst just her comrades, but to smile at **him** as well, be it after receiving a mission and leaving with a 'yes, sir,' and a smile, or when they pass each other down the hall, or when he's giving a speech, and he'd catch her in the crowd offering him an almost encouraging smile.

Naturally, he assumed she fancied him. And, of course, he knew that many others did as well.

But that was when the difference showed most. **Their** smiles were tainted with lust, or mere admiration…Hers were different…It was in her eyes, and he'd seen it enough times to spot it…They were…warm…simply different…

He never thought much of it, and she never did anything else to present him with numerous theories, so he left it as is, and never cared enough to call her out on it.

She **did** fancy him. Who didn't? But, she also cared,

truly cared.

Most girls spoke of how attractive he was, how young, how powerful, how smart…Her thoughts were deeper:

_'He looks upset today.' 'He must feel pressured from all the attention, all the responsibilities.' 'He's always so alone.' 'Does his back hurt from standing tall all day?' 'Does he __**have**__ any friends?' 'God, Arthur…what a sad little life you lead…yet you fight relentlessly…'_

It was that same year that Arthur declared they'd fly the Prydwen (a modified and armored Brotherhood of Steel airship) to the Commonwealth (a region largely encompassing Massachusetts, as well as Boston), as the technology there was, as reported by Paladin Danse and his team, (as well as the unit sent before them) very advanced, and highly dangerous, specifically in the hands of the faction called the Institute (a large group concerned with the preservation of **humanity** via technology) using it to make humanoid synths manufactured by means of consistent kidnappings of the Commonwealth's people to use their DNA to achieve so, then replace them **with** the synths. It was diabolical in the eyes of many, including the Brotherhood's, and Arthur's.

XXX


	2. Part One:

About a week in, there was very little success on finding the Institute's location or any information. During said week, an incident occurred between Arthur and Claire that got things moving.

It was an uneventful night after the previous day's short mission, and she and her three friends: Lancer-Knight Jenna Reed, Paladin Clark Greyson, and Proctor Hank Nicolson, were drinking and sparring in the training room.

As he occasionally did, Arthur roamed the Prydwen back and forth at night, eventually stumbling upon them. He watched from the shadows as Claire successfully tackled and beat Greyson, who was quite larger than her whole physical frame. She was quick, calculating, and underestimated.

He couldn't help but smirk, ever-admiring her talent as he did that of several others.

Acknowledging that if he moved, as their attention was no longer on Claire, they'd spot him, so instead, he stepped in, silently announcing his presence. The group saluted him immediately. "At ease, soldiers," he tells, hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in a thin, sleeved grey top and a pair of jeans and black combat-boots. He caught the glint in Claire's eyes at the sight of him, and brushed it off. "It's quite late, is it not?" he informed the group, noting the few beer bottles scattered about.

"Just doing some late-night sparring, sir. We'll be off to our quarters now," Hank replied. The others quickly followed suit, picking up their belongings and empty bottles, all but her, who held his gaze firmly. He cocked an eyebrow at her in question. She spoke to her friends over her shoulder:

"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up." The blue matts on the floor were dimly lit by the strong ceiling lamb, so anyone out of its radius was in vivid dark; hence, Arthur couldn't spot their reactions to that, merely their departing silhouettes.

"Is there something you wish to discuss with me, Paladin?" he inquired of her aloud.

"Yes, Elder," she nodded, taking a step towards him, an unusual smirk decorating her tanned features. Her shoulder-length, auburn hair was pulled back in a messy fishtail-braid. She was wearing a tight black tank and cropped, dark slacks, some sweat glistering her forehead, just above her coffee-brown eyes, as well as her heaving chest and neck.

He could tell, she was waiting for the others to leave, and when the metal doors clicked closed, she spoke up. "Care to spar, Elder?" she asked in an amused tone. His brow raised again. Something was definitely off with her. She was usually careful to upholding formality when addressing him, despite the fact that he could always tell she wanted to shred it for some reason, but never risked it, and he almost always secretly dared her to…Now, not fully knowing why, he was more concerned than pleased with her slip. His mind pointed at the memory of empty beer bottles, so Arthur asked:

"How much have you had to drink, Paladin?" She outright grinned at his question, and he was then certain this would not end well, suddenly hoping she wouldn't ruin the respect he upheld for her, but he supposed he could pin it all on the drinks.

Oh, she was counting on that.

In truth, she'd only had two bottles, and she was far from a light drinker, but she was, shamefully, abusing the excuse to connect with the closely-guarded man opposite her. She'd do whatever it takes to peel off at least one shell that night, she decided; she could apologize in the morning and blame it on the booze.

He'd just been so closed lately, walking around as though dragging a large weight behind him. She could tell, the whole deal with the Institute and what they were doing to people bothered him greatly…She found she **hated** how brought down he was…She'd become obsessed lately, with the idea that all he needed was someone to talk to. For god's sake, he was only human! How is it that no one else cared?!

She tried, you know, asked him before if he was alright; he always said he was, then dismissed her as though it was not her place to ask. It wasn't, but that didn't stop her from repeating the question on several other similar occasions, and getting the same reaction. She'd complete a mission, tell him it was one less thing for him to worry about, he'd say: 'yes,' then dismiss her! He was impossible to talk to! to check on.

…She worried he'd snap one day…

Tonight, she makes an effort to change this…

"Hopefully, enough not to get in trouble for talking to you like this," she retorted, biting her lower lip at the end, causing his eyes to involuntarily fall to them. He was quick enough to force them back up that she didn't notice.

"Sleep it off, Paladin, and I'll pretend this conversation never took place," he gave, turning to walk away.

"Arthur, wait!" she called, her hand reaching out in haste, grasping his arm. His eyes widened at her behavior and the fact that she used his first name, a flicker of anger starting in his chest and showing in his blue-green gaze. He turned to her, clearly displeased. She remained firm, smiled as though quite drunk, brought a finger up and said: "Just one match." He seemed disgusted by her state, and ripped his arm free.

"Take caution to your actions, Paladin. I will only tolerate so much informal behavior," he told. He always did have a short-temper, she knew. She rolled her eyes, **actually** rolled her eyes at it, causing his to further widen. Perhaps she **was** a little tipsy, or maybe it was that she'd been watching his every move for the past four years like a hawk; she felt she had some kind of right to address him differently.

"Okay, fine," she gave,

then,

without warning,

raised an intentionally slow

**fist** to his **face**.

As expected, he caught it, eyeing her in **utmost bewilderment**. "Have you **lost** your **mind**?!" he demanded.

"For god's sake, no one's around! Stop whining and kick my ass!" she shouted, bringing up her other fist. Arthur reacted by reflex, his mind more caught up with retaliating than processing the **amount** of lines she'd just crossed!

She spun out of his grasp and sent her leg flying at his chest, pushing him back a foot. Arthur stares at her

in **complete** shock and rage.

With the right amount of alcohol in her system,

she merely smirked

and beckoned he come get her.

…He trotted towards her.

The two sparred back and forth for at least ten minutes, their voices muffled by the heavy steel walls and closed doors.

Through the flying fists and kicks, Claire spoke up. "You know," she started. He had her in standing-chock-hold. She broke free and resumed. "I'm always trying to prove something!" she says, pushing her braid back with her shoulder and keeping her fists up.

"Prove what, exactly?" he irritably asked. Prove that she was crazy? She retaliated with a punch that he countered with his arm.

"I!" She tried another. He countered that too. "Don't!" She shot a fist to his stomach that he pushed away. "**Know**!" She pushed her leg up to meet the side of his face, but he caught it and got her off balance, pushing her to the ground and pinning up her arms, his own legs separating hers apart. He registered her words, and couldn't understand the point of the conversation. She was breathing heavily, hot-red from the exercise, sweat-slicked and,

momentarily,

sinfully

turning her Elder on.

She looks deeply into his green-grey, confused eyes, beads of sweat atop his brow, and some sliding down his neck and collarbones, then disappearing under his shirt. _'Come on, Claire,'_ her mind urged. _'Don't stop now!'_ "Whatever it is, it's meant for you, Arthur," she confesses. Maxson is further confused by her words,

but, for some reason,

his already accelerated heart missed a beat.

Her thoughts focused on his off gaze, and she utilized his moment of distraction, flipping their positions. She grins in victory,

and all thoughts escape him for a moment.

Having had enough, she rises to her feet and offers him her arm. He takes it, and before giving him any chance to speak up (and most likely scold her for starting this) she suddenly waved back and forth at the ground with one hand. "This line of formality, I'm erasing for just a minute, because you need to hear this," she says breathlessly.

"Hear **what**, Paladin?" he demands, clearly impatient and intolerant of any more cryptic confessions.

"**Ah**! No line; no title. It's **Claire**, and I **know** you know my name," she says, smirking as though his knowledge of her name meant she'd gained his attention somehow. He eyes her strangely, wondering what she meant by her last statement, or what she thought it meant.

She wasn't stupid; she was a woman, and she could read the look in his eyes when they were on her like an open book, no matter how well he tried to hide it. It was a look she was used to, a look she never appreciated

until the day it came from him.

She neared him to a two-feet separator, locking firmly onto his gaze as she took a minute to regain regular breathing, then spoke. "You don't need me to tell you how intellectual, or strong, or powerful you are, because you already know that, **so**, I'll tell you what you **don't** know or don't **want** to hear because, apparently," she laughs in sudden mock, "no one else **will** and no one else seems to **care** that you're…" she trails off, her gaze on him softening suddenly.

Had it been anyone else, he'd have put an end to this gibberish long ago…But something inside him wanted to hear her…be near her, something deeply buried, something he shuns for the sake of his duties. It was clawing its way up now, keeping him from pulling away, making him listen.

The red-head opposite him exhales from tension, regarding the ground for words, then locked right back onto his gaze. "It's not right…You're carrying this huge weight all by yourself. Everyone expects you to plan, everyone expects you to win, and anyone would blame you for a **single** failure…" she says. He feels a poking irritation at her very true words and the obliviousness to what she was implying by them. "I know its crushing, and you're not letting anyone help you!" she suddenly scolds. Though still confused as to what exactly she wanted, he replied to her words accordingly.

"You can help by doing your job, **Paladin**," he informs, intently using her title. She glares at so in retort, but firmly grips her point.

"That's not what I meant." She sighs, placing a hand on her hip and the other one pulling at her lip in thought.

"Then what do you mean?" he pushes.

"I **mean**!" her arms flap up then hit her thighs at their fall. Her eyes dart around for a counter, gathering her thoughts

before the light of a bulb went off in them.

They fall on him in a sudden calm, and hesitance, as though she was debating saying what she wanted to say… "You wander back and forth between decision and the next in your head. It gives you headaches that sometimes make you wanna shoot somebody." His eyes widen at her accusation. She wasn't accusing though, she was informing. "You look in the mirror, and you know something's wrong, you just don't know what it is. You wake up in the middle of the night, and it's as if you're missing something, so you roam the halls and look up to the stars, going over everything you'd done to make sure it was the right thing…" she lists down.

…

…He does not know how she knows any of this…and it kind of freaks him out. She catches that, and quickly explains. "I'm not," she laughs in embarrassment at the version he was seeing. "I'm not **stalking** you or anything…" _'Yeah, you are,'_ her mind mocked. She brushed it off. "I'm good at reading people, and I'm good **with** them; you already know that…And…well…" He studies her carefully as she faces the floor again, her brows furrowed, her fists clenched and her gaze heavy. "The look I see in your eyes," she starts,

then faces him again,

"is a look I see when I look in the mirror…

But I don't…**shut** the world out, Arthur…You can't **do **all of it on your own."

He felt a painful sensation in his chest at her words, but he pushed it aside, and focused on the logical reply to her statement. "It is my duty as Elder, and you're smart enough to know that, Foster," he reminded, tone stern. She did not overlook that he at least used her last name instead.

"You're not a machine, Maxson! You're a **person**, despite what others think!" she exclaims.

"So what exactly do you want me to do?!" he impatiently demands, having had enough.

"I want!...Honesty."

"Honesty?"

"Yes! I want an honest answer when I ask you if you're okay!"

"…That's it?"

"Yes!"

…Arthur eyes her in bewilderment. "Why? What could that possibly help you achieve?!" he perplexedly questions.

"I'm not trying to **achieve** anything, Arthur!" she exclaims, clearly offended.

"So what is it?!"

"I wanna keep you sane!"

"Are you implying I am **in**sane?!"

"Don't put words in my mouth!" Her eyes glint with amusement. His brow raises. "Your solitary confinement is **exhausting** you, and everyone is noticing it!" she confesses. This takes him off guard. Who noticed? What did she hear?

He then nods. "I don't expect anyone to understand the kind of responsibilities I have to uphold."

"Obviously. Otherwise, everyone would be Elder," she says sarcastically. He does not appreciate the humor. She doesn't care what he appreciates at the moment, only that he listen. "That doesn't make it any easier. Look, what do you have to lose? You might benefit from this, talking to someone," she says.

"I don't need a **shrink**, Paladin," he scowls.

"Good, cause that's not what I said!" she glares. It sounded to him like it was.

"You still haven't answered my question. Why do you care?" he urged, his mind already putting together a number of theories he was ready to belittle her with. Then, she shrugs, and says:

"Why shouldn't I? Why doesn't everybody else care?" she asks with sincerity. It was not a satisfactory answer to him, not one he could retaliate to and shut down her point as he highly wanted to for some reason, as though he somehow felt threatened by her suggestion, like she was trying to open a door he did not want open.

"It isn't their job to care," he retorts.

"Caring isn't a job at all, Arthur. It's something you just **do**…"

Arthur looks away, exhaling tiredly. She was annoyingly persistent, and he found he **still** didn't know why she was saying any of what she was saying.

She studies him curiously, worriedly. She could tell she was getting to him at least, but was worried that she maybe pushed too far, and lost the chance for good.

But he did not speak, simply looked off in consideration of something. To lighten the mood, she said: "Are you thinking of ways to punish me?" His heavy gaze met hers again, causing her heart to jump at the intensity of it.

"…It's tempting," he threatened lightly. She smirked in retaliation, able, after so much time, to point out when he was mad, and when he was slightly **less** mad.

She'd said what she needed to, and decided to leave it at that, but a part of her panicked that he might not take her seriously if he simply accepted that she was drunk.

"Well, then. You should know that I only had a beer and a half. I'm not drunk at all," she states, foolishly confident he wouldn't use so against her, but he was still surprised to hear her confession, as though she was **challenging** him to punish her somehow for just being honest. She bit her lower lip again as she said. "I'm gonna…**go** now…" She walked backwards, quickly leaning down to pick her belongings. She straightened to meet his gaze again. "Goodnight, Elder," she smirked, then turned and walked away, leaving him to go over all that was said.

XXX


	3. Part Two:

Four days later, and another mission for her, things had been as was between them: Brotherhood business, along with her persistent smiles as though signaling him a hidden message. She didn't push it any further though, so, despite concerned what line she might cross next, he paid it no mind.

It was another night, three am, and Claire was having trouble falling asleep. She wondered if Arthur was out and decided that, if he was, it was quiet enough to continue their little game. She needed to gain his trust in more than just her combat skills and operation-planning or leading, she needed to earn his trust in her care, advice, and company.

Unable to find him within the Prydwen itself, she decided to peek out at the outdoor catwalks.

She walked about and eyed around, smiling victoriously when she spotted his long, brown, and heavy leather coat, hugging his broad shoulders and tight torso. He was at a far, secluded edge, obviously wanting to be alone, something that mattered little to her, as he was **always** alone. She was dressed in slacks, and had on a cameo-green jacket, knowing the wind was fast and cool that night.

She plucked up her courage and approached him. Despite what she felt she needed to do, it was far from easy for her, walking up to the most powerful man on the Prydwen and not submitting to his heavy gaze that could scare a crying baby shut. It was **very** hard. Thankfully, she was stupidly brave, a risk-taker, and if she weren't one, she never would have left home in search of a more meaningful future.

Apparently, he heard her approaching footsteps and turned to face the intruder. Upon noting it was her, Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes, knowing this was most likely another one of her attempts to 'win him over' or whatever it was she was trying to do. "What are you doing out here, Paladin?" he asked in a disapproving tone.

"Getting some fresh air, same as you, sir," she casually replies, stopping beside him.

"Well, the deck is large and there is as much fresh air around as there is here," he states the obvious.

"How rude of you to dismiss my company," she smirks, leaning her elbows on the railing, her gaze observing the sky and the city-in-ruins below. Arthur's eyes snapped to her.

"Watch your tone, Paladin," he warned.

"Oh, relax. No one's listening," she retorted.

"Your **Elder** is listening," he sternly told. Her gaze met his, alert,

then softened and calmed.

She was to speak, though uncertain what to say to that, but she'd become fairly distracted by his…

well,

beauty…

Yes, he was beautiful. From his shaved, oval head, to his hard facial features, the permanent crease of stress between his thick, brown brows, his sharp, consuming grey-green eyes, the faded scar stretched from above his left brow, missing his eye, and continuing down his olive-shaded, lightly freckled cheek, telling the story of a boy and his battles, as well as his hours in the sun. His bulbous nose, his thin, light-pink lips held in a fixed straight line or scowl, his five o'clock shadow beard and sharp jaw-line.

A smile pulled at her lips as she admired his every detail so up close, and she looked away nervously and in an attempt to hide her blushing. Her reaction confused him greatly (though he did not notice the blushing) and he momentarily forgot what he was arguing about. Then, tiredly, he decided it wasn't worth it, and looked back to the skies.

For a few blissful moments of silence, neither spoke a word, simply enjoying the breeze of the air, the stars in the sky…Upon looking down, the view differed, so did their opinion on it. "It's beautiful," she said. He looked at the city beneath, and could not bring himself to think the same. Perhaps once, it was. Not anymore.

"It is an example of the destruction humanity is capable of," he replied. She glanced at him, processing what he'd said, and finding that she did not fully agree.

"Not all of humanity is bad," she countered.

"But it is the actions of the bad that are dominant," he retorts.

"Maybe for now…But that's what we're here to change, right?" He faced her, as she seemed to be expectant of his answer. He gave a firm nod.

"Exactly…" She smiles contently at his reply, and he turns away, as if stubbornly refusing to be affected by her friendliness. He was calm, though. She finds he is at ease. Not yelling at her was a good start, and she decided it was a good enough accomplishment for that night, that he know he can tolerate, maybe even enjoy, her company, and, thinking she'd achieved just so, she waited a few more peaceful minutes before she said:

"Well, I'm gonna head back inside…" She pushed away from the rail and turned. Arthur merely observed her with the corner of his eye. "Goodnight, Arthur," she softly said before taking her leave.

His face turned at the name he'd heard before from her, so he wasn't sure why it felt strange this time…warmer…He faced forward again, brushing it off, and went over what had just occurred, coming to the conclusion that the Paladin was 'okay',

as exactly what she'd intended he'd do.

XXX

Three days later, Paladin Jason Danse had been sent with a team to investigate the Castle (also known as Fort Independence). It was a standing stronghold for the faction: The Minutemen (a paramilitary group protecting the various settlements in the Commonwealth) who had thinned out with time, but had suddenly resurfaced as a semi-strong force.

There had been readings of some strange activity down there, and Jason and his team were to report back. The two other members had returned with the Paladin's report in hand. Apparently, he'd decided to stay and look things over, for he informed that the Minutemen had found a way into the Institute using teleportation! and were also in allegiance with an Institute double-agent.

Her story was that she was Cryogenically frozen in a Vault (underground buildings designed by Vault-Tec to protect selected groups of the U.S population from nuclear holocaust. However, most of their facilities were merely experimental) the day the bombs fell. Being the only survivor for reasons unknown, the woman, Laura, claims that the Institute had her husband killed, and her baby kidnapped, then she awoke sixty years later (after being awakened temporarily to witness the murder and kidnap), and set out to find her son. With help from an escaped prototype synth called Detective Nick Valentine, and the Minutemen, she was able to find and commune with them.

Jason bizarrely stated that she'd discovered her son had been elected the Institute's leader! and that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. She confessed she'd agreed to 'help' the Institute, only to work undercover and exploit their weaknesses to the Minutemen.

The leader of the Minutemen, a man named Preston Garvey, had requested Arthur's presence to discuss a truce so as to help each other take the Institute down alongside the woman and her synth that Arthur, and the whole of the Brotherhood, was reluctant to trust.

Still, hearing the grand progression on their case, of course, Arthur agreed to meet and look personally into the vital matter.

That day, he was set to fly there on one of the Prydwen's many Vertibirds (a type of Vertical Take Off and Landing (VTOL) aircraft). Before leaving the command deck with a select hand of followers, Claire petitioned for a private audience with him for an important matter. He reluctantly and curiously allowed it.

"Permission to come along, sir," she requested formally.

"Denied, Paladin. I need you here," he retorted, and it wasn't a lie. He **did** trust her command alongside the two other Paladins left behind. He went to head for the door.

"Arthur!" she called.

He paused in his tracks at his name, shut his eyes exasperatedly, and turned to face her concerned tone. She approached him with heavy steps and halted two feet from him. "Make peace with them. They're some of the few people in the Commonwealth that actually care to make a change, a good change," she says, having crossed paths and fought aside them twice or so on ops. He takes it in, his ego not appreciating being told what to do.

"Is that all?" he pushes, wanting to leave.

"No, uh…be careful," she sparred a smile. He observed her for a long moment, a stubborn tugging at his lips urging him to smile back. He didn't, and simply took his leave.

XXX

A few days later, the Minutemen and the Brotherhood worked to kidnap one of the Institute's coursers (elite synth-hunters and operatives designated to carry out surface missions from the Institute) sent to keep an eye on Laura as she executed their missions. They, alongside the Railroad (a synth-saving faction), who had most experience with synths and coursers, interrogated him for information, and during so, the courser mocked that the Brotherhood had no idea that one of their most trusted, Jason, was in himself a synth.

The news shocked those present from the Brotherhood. At first, Arthur rejected it as a lie, but it wasn't. The courser, X6-88, stated that coursers were implanted with a device that could identify synths. Desdemona, leader of the Railroad, informed that one of her men had conducted a device using said implant off a dead courser to perform the same function.

Despite the Brotherhood and the Railroad highly despising one another (the Brotherhood feared and controlled science and technology, while the Railroad believed the escaped synths had a right to live) they put aside their differences for the sake of bringing down the greater enemy. And though greatly reluctant, but more concerned that the Institute had infiltrated them, Arthur allowed Desdemona's guy, Tinker Tom, to analyze Jason.

Jason, thinking it impossible he was a synth, cooperated…

until it was discovered he truly was one…

Arthur immediately left the room to plan what in the world to do then…Jason seemed genuinely shocked; he didn't know either…But, regardless, he was indeed

a synth…

Hearing so, a woman named Cait decided she'd free Jason. She worked (for the time being at least) with the Minutemen as part of unarmed-training and security. With assistance from one of the Railroad's spies, Deacon, they'd managed to do just that. At first, Jason refused to run as she'd urged him too, but she scared and convinced him enough that he did.

When it was discovered that someone had helped him escape, Arthur was furious, and immediately blamed the synth-rescuing Railroad. Cait stepped in and boldly confessed it was her doing, and that she did not regret it. Arthur criticized Preston for having zero control over his subjects, who acted as they pleased and foolishly, then took his leave to work on finding Jason as the Minutemen and the Railroad continued their work on the courser.

XXX


	4. Part Three:

The persistent knocking on her quarter's door had her yelling: "For god's sake, I'm coming!" She is shocked to find it was Arthur himself, a panicked, angered expression clawing at his features. "Arthur!" she exclaimed in confusion. He pushed in and she stood back as he closed the door, eyeing him in both confusion and concern. He finally faced her, gaze tense and posture alert.

"Paladin, I am about to give you a mission that is highly classified and needs to stay under the radar, do you understand?" he questions sternly. Taking it in, she quickly nods.

"Ye-Yes. What do you need me to do?" she asks, now fairly worried. He blows hot air from his nose and faces the side-wall as if accusingly.

"Paladin Danse has been compromised," he says. Claire's eyes widen.

"What?" she asks. He faces her again as he explains.

"It was discovered he is an Institute synth, and we are unaware if he has been working under them this whole time, but his attempt to flee certainly proves so."

…

…

…It was a lot to fathom.

"He…He's gone?"

"Yes…"

"Are you…sure about this?" she pushes.

"I wouldn't be here if I **wasn't**!" he spat as though she'd insulted his intelligence. "Now, listen well. I've tasked his initiate with discovering his location and terminating him. I need you to follow him and insure he executes his orders, do you understand?"

Danse? Compromised? Find him?

…

Were they really going after one of their own?

…

The Institute?!

"…I…" she opens and closes her mouth, unable to process what that meant, actually meant for them.

"Do you understand, **Paladin**?" He takes a firm step towards her, rage and impatience dripping from his form. She meets his gaze, and catches the glimmer of panic in them, confirming that he shared her dreary thoughts and fears.

"…Yes. I understand…" she tells.

Arthur gives a content nod, and holds out something with his leather-gloved hand. "Contact me as soon as you're firm on Danse's location," he says. She reaches to take the communication device. He pulls it away from her grasp and she faces him in confusion. "I'm counting on you," he pushes, sinfully manipulating her admiration for him…It works…

"…I won't let you down, Elder."

XXX

Several hours later, she does indeed contact him. He arrives on a Vertibird outside a bunker called Listening Post Bravo, after having just issued an order to send fire-support to the Castle, that was currently under attack by the Institute, coming to reclaim their courser.

Shit was really hitting the fan that night.

Arthur and Claire stand near a far off rock, hidden by the night and still, waiting for the initiate's exit. Arthur was consumed with his thoughts about the Institute attacking the Minutemen, wondering if they would succeed in gaining the courser, and if so, what then?

He hoped that, ironically, the Railroad had succeeded in breaching X's firewall and discovering the Institute's location.

But first and foremost, he had to be present when it came to Brotherhood's internal affairs, especially something as large as one of them being an enemy.

Claire, who had had a lot of time to think about the whole situation, had suddenly come to realize something bizarre. "Elder. Permission to speak freely," she calls from his side, tone evidently stern.

"Granted," he allows curiously though slightly unwilling.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" she hisses quietly. He abruptly faces her at the outburst in both intolerance and confusion.

"Excuse me?!"

"Of all the people you could've sent, you sent **Michael**! You **know** Danse was his mentor, you **know** he looks up to him! Why would you put him in this position?!" she asks in desperation. He was not blind to the fact, of course, but he'd spoken firmly to the boy, making the Brotherhood's goals and reasons quite clear, and showing, to his best extent, that exceptions could **not** be made.

"You are overly compassionate, Foster, and are overlooking the fact that Danse is a **synth**. As a Brotherhood member, it is initiate Vaughn's duty to bring **it** down," he states. She lets out a tense sigh, facing away.

"…He's not gonna do it," she tells. He glares heatedly at her statement.

"Then he might as well be an **accomplice**," he retorts. Claire sharply turns to him.

"**No**, if the boy doesn't know, you **can't** hold him accountable for failing an **impossible** mission!" she insists.

"What is so impossible about executing **orders**, Paladin?!" he demands.

"Damn it, Arthur! You can't expect him to just erase the past **year** of time spent under Jason's mentoring and encouragement." He was well aware it had been a year, a full year where the boy and Jason were shoulder to shoulder, and he was certain he was the right person to find Jason, and prayed that he'd pull through, as he admired the boy's sense of loyalty. "They bonded, and that isn't something you just **cut** with a knife! It's was makes us different from the **machines**," she speaks a language she knows he'd understand.

Arthur does not have time to reply as, to his great disappointment, Michael walks out,

followed by an unscathed Danse.

The Elder deeply exhales before making his presence known to the walking, smiling pair.

"**Initiate**! What is the meaning of this?!" he demands. The duo freeze, and Claire is still stood behind, highly anxious about the unfolding event.

"It's not his fault, Elder. It's mine!" Jason quickly tells.

"What the **hell** are you doing, Danse? Why did you run?" Arthur interrogates.

"…I…I just…"

"You just decided to go against everything the Brotherhood stands for?! Decided to cower away rather than face the truth head on? Do you really expect me to believe you didn't know, that you don't **work** for them?!"

"No, Arthur, I **swear** to you! I **didn't** know!" Jason tells.

"How should I believe you?" Arthur asks in disgust.

"…After everything I've done for the Brotherhood, how can you even ask?" Jason retorted in clear hurt.

"…Because you **ran**!" Arthur angrily shouted.

"…I ran because I was!…I…I couldn't believe it…Everything the Brotherhood stands against, was suddenly **me**…I…I panicked…" he confesses.

Everyone goes quiet…The air was thicker than a dense fog…

Arthur breaks the silence bitterly. "This changes nothing…

…

You have to die…"

he says. Everyone snaps at Arthur in shock.

"What?!...N-no! You can't!" Michael argues anxiously.

"Arthur," Claire called, approaching his side in haste. He ignored them all.

"The Institute gave you life…You were programmed to **mimic** a Brotherhood soldier, but you are **not** one. You simply were never meant to **exist**, and you know this," he pushes. Jason is silenced by his Elder's words, shame, sorrow, and fear consuming him. Michael is at a loss, tears glimmering his eyes for the suddenly immanent death of his mentor and sole father-figure. Claire, the only one with her head still screwed on, blocked Arthur's path.

"Arthur, look at me," she cautiously requested.

"Foster, step aside!" he ordered in a low, harsh tone that actually scared her a little, but she held her ground. The duo eyed her warily, worried for her, and wondering how come she called the Elder by his first name.

"Let him walk," she says.

"What?!" he demands in mock and anger.

"**Exile** him. He won't come back to the Brotherhood, but you don't **have** to kill him!"

"You would defend this **thing**?!" Claire glared in offense at him.

"This **thing** has fought countless battles in the name of the Brotherhood, in **your** name!"

"That doesn't change the facts!"

"No, the fact **is**, however he was made, this man **believed** in our cause, has killed **hundreds** of synths, and risked his life countless times! **Killing** him…isn't right…It's not right…" she tried heartedly.

Arthur studied her for a long minute, took in her words…Everyone was on their toes for his reaction…He found he was, at ill-time, wondering why, and annoyed, that she was defending Jason so. He quickly brushed the unnecessary question away to consider what course of action to take.

What he wanted to do fought strongly with what he knew he ought to do…The line between duty and what was right violently blurred away, and he was left with an ultimatum of sort, forcing him to consider the ups and downs of each…If he held firm to his former decision, not only would he most likely lose the trust and respect of the young initiate…but of hers too.

And hers was…important? somehow?

Why? He wasn't sure.

Yes, she was a highly efficient Paladin, earnest of her title, well-respected, skilled, obedient…one of his best,

but there was something more.

What was it?

…It didn't matter then…

He faced Jason again.

…

"…As of this moment, you are no longer a member of the Brotherhood, effective immediately," he starts. The group breathe a silent sigh of relief as he resumes. "You are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood. Should you **choose** to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon **immediately**. Do we understand each other?" Claire turns to look at Jason for a reaction, and takes to Arthur's side.

"Yes. Of course…Thank you, Arthur," Jason smiles genuinely. Arthur's frown remains firm.

"Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance," he coldly retorts, then turns to Michael. "You've been put in a difficult position, initiate." Claire is surprised to hear her own words crawl out of his mouth. "I will overlook your insubordination, and have you return to the Prydwen to resume your duties, provided you confirm that you understand the consequences you would face should you choose to remain in contact with **it**," he pushes.

Michael hesitates. He looks to Jason as if for advice. Jason eyes him painfully, but his tone remains stern. "Answer your Elder, initiate," he encourages. Michael looks back to Arthur, who was glaring impatiently. Claire pled with her eyes that he give in, but the boy turned to the ground in great reluctance.

"I…" he uttered, then opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to let go, to abandon Jason, after all he'd done for him, all they'd been through.

Jason lets out a shaky, sorrow-filled sigh. He then charged towards Michael and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Michael, look at me," he demanded. The boy turned his teary gaze to meet his mentor's intent ones. Arthur felt a sudden urge to intervene, keep the synth away from the initiate. His thoughts were cut off by Jason's words. "Remember what the Brotherhood stands for. Synths can't be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions; they need to be controlled."

"But you're not like them!" Jason gulped down his pain and heartbreak, parting with the boy he raised into a soldier, parting with the Brotherhood, seeing the disappointment in his Elder's eyes. He swallows and speaks clearly, refusing to have Michael ruin his future.

"Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees, and humanity to the brink of extinction...

I need to be the example,

not the exception…

Go back to the Brotherhood. Help keep the Institute from ruining any more lives," he says.

Michael sniffs and takes in his mentor's every word.

Eventually, he gives

one,

firm,

nod.

XXX


	5. Part Four:

After returning to the Prydwen, Arthur was informed that they'd won the battle at the Castle, that the courser had escaped, but that the Railroad had indeed found the Institute's location.

Soon, they would march to battle…

Arthur then spoke to Michael privately, and offered him a promotion he didn't entirely deserve for the sake of showing him that his decision was not in vain. When Michael declined, Arthur contently stated that his humility is exactly why he deserved it. The boy left feeling more confident, and determined as ever to bring the Institute down.

Then, Arthur told him to bring in Claire, who was patiently waiting outside as he'd ordered. Claire studied Michael as he left. He seemed calm, maybe even smiling? He informed her that Elder Maxson requested her presence…and thanked her for what she did for Jason…She nodded and sparred a smile, pained by the reminder that he was no longer with them, yet comforted by the fact that he was still alive.

Upon entry to the command-deck/Arthur's office, she was presented with the sight of Arthur's back to her, hands clasped as he stood across the large glass window at the end of the room where he conducted most meetings, and his own private quarters adjacent.

"You wanted to see me?" she calls, sensing trouble. His face tilted to the side at her voice.

"You questioned my authority today," he told, tone plain. She'd expected he'd be harsher about that, but he seemed in an almost tired mood. She considered her words carefully, slowly approaching him.

"Do you not think it **needed** to be questioned?" she sheepishly retorts. Arthur turned to face her at that, clearly displeased. She internally winced. "Look, I know I was out of line…But I just couldn't let you go through with it…" she confessed. Her apology satisfies him, but her reasoning: 'couldn't', does not. Arthur stopped a mere foot away, towering over her in both structure and power. Still, he looked calm, which somewhat perplexed her.

"You can't let your personal feelings taint your duties," he tells. She eyes him curiously, finding his statement hypocritical in many ways. He let **his** hatred for the Institute nearly kill Jason. He let **his** admiration for her decide against it, though she was unaware of the latter, merely assuming that she'd helped him see reason. **Reason**. Not feelings!

"With all due respect, Elder, this was never about feelings," she insisted.

"You let your compassion cloud your judgment," he retorts, looking to the side. She failed to catch onto the fact that Arthur was, if unintentionally,

mainly speaking out of jealousy,

as he was forced to assume that her persistence came from a deeper connection of a sort to that **synth**.

"If that were true, then I would be a far less efficient soldier than I actually am," she stated. He faced her again, considering this…He'd never actually had this problem with her on the field, only when she was off duty and talking to people, or him. But it **did** affect her mission this time. "Look, I understand that the Brotherhood upholds certain codes, and I respect them, **believe** in them, but they can't justify everything…" He takes this into consideration as well. It was a logical conclusion, one he did not believe was what her decision was based on.

"And your personal feelings for someone can't justify as convenient reasons for defending them," he retorted. Claire was irritated by his constant rejection to her reasoning,

until

she noticed where he was coming…

"Arthur…

are you…"

she grinned suddenly, her heart jumping.

"Are you jealous?" His eyes widened at the accusation.

"That is absurd," he denied irritably, averting his gaze away. _'Am I?'_ he couldn't help wondering. _'Of course not.'_

…But he was…

and she knew…

She bit her lower lip in excitement.

"Yes, it is absurd," she says. Arthur turns to her. "It's absurd of you to **misplace** my 'personal feelings'," she makes quotes in the air, smirking in amusement as she nears him to a foot. She eyed him intently, causing his brows to furrow.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks. She raises a brow at him as though asking: 'seriously?'

A very clear way to reply suddenly appeared before Claire, and for a long minute, a whirlwind stormed in her brain, considering all angles **vaguely** as to whether or not she **should**, what would happen if she **would**, and what would **he** do.

Everything ended in a maybe, and it wasn't long before she finally decided on it.

For that long minute, Arthur wondered what was taking her so long to answer a simple question, then

she neared him again,

till there was barely any space between them. A part of him wanted to ask what she was doing,

and the other wanted to see instead…

She gulped, brought a hesitant hand up to his cheek. His skin was alert at the contact. "What are you-" he tried.

"Shh," she quieted successfully, as though asking not to be interrupted. He became fairly distracted by the feel of her warm palm against his rough cheek, her thumb softly grazing his cheekbone and her eyes observing him in a mixture of anxiety,

and admiration.

She brought up her other hand, and cupped his face between her palms, causing his chest to suddenly ache, but not in a painful way. His heart beat faster, and his mind went board-blank as she slowly closed the distance between them.

He felt her lips ghost over his, the breath from her mouth tickling his senses, and he found his own lips had slightly parted in response.

She pressed her lips against his,

and kissed him.

The sensation was impossibly consuming. He felt a surge of vibrating energy engulf him, and his eyes drifted shut as his head tilted to meet her lips properly.

For a moment, he panicked, feeling that his strict policy of not being romantically involved with anyone so as to focus solely on his duties was being violated in, ironically, the sweetest way. His hands grasped her upper arms and squeezed, as though about to push her away,

but he didn't,

instead,

he kissed her back…

The second he did so, her heart responded by skipping a beat in both shock

and grand ecstasy.

The kiss was slow, sweet, and short-lived. It must have been the surprise at having him retaliate the kiss that had her pulling away; he didn't seek after her. Still, they remained in their position, with his hands on her arms, and her hands falling to rest on his shoulders.

She smiled, brightly smiled at what had just occurred, being the only one out of the two of them able to comprehend and appreciate it. She suddenly recalled why she'd risked making this move. "Is that proof enough that the thing with Danse wasn't personal?" she says. It takes him a minute to process that she'd actually said anything. His mind was in a minor state of denial, and his reply was almost automatic, based on his 'I'm the Elder' foundation.

"That doesn't change the fact that you stood against me," he says. She seems annoyed by his reply, refraining from rolling her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but he spoke first. "Next time you want to discuss what would go down, do it **before**, not **during** the mission," he informed.

She smiled again, fairly satisfied that he, rather than tell her never to do it again, agreed to listen at the proper time…"I will. Provided you give me the chance," she smirked. He raised an irritated brow.

"Foster," he warned. She merely chuckled in response, declining her head in doing so. He couldn't find it in him to further argue.

A knocking on the door grasped their attention, and they pulled apart. Procter Karl Teagan poked his head in. "Elder. Can I speak to you?" he calmly requested. The scene he'd walked in on was as professional as always, despite Arthur slightly panicking that he and Claire somehow showed otherwise.

"Yeah, I should be going anyways," Claire casually states, all signs of amusement well-masked from her features as Arthur warily glanced at her. "Anything else, Elder?" she plainly asked, facing him.

"No," he replied, perhaps too quickly, causing her to smirk. "You're dismissed." She nods, and her smirk falls again before she turns to face Karl as though nothing had happened between her and Arthur.

"Hey, Karl," she greeted on her way out.

"Claire," Karl greeted back, stepping in.

XXX

With the information pulled by the Railroad from the Institute courser, their location was finally found. Every faction, the Railroad, the Brotherhood, the Minutemen, sent in groups to raid the location, while the remnant members were forced to deal with the Commonwealth itself, for the Institute had launched attacks on numerous regions in hopes of distracting the factions, causing panic, and avoiding defeat.

It was onset war…

In a manner of a day, the Commonwealth was in chaos, Institute synths appearing from every which way, all opposing factions trying desperately to control the underestimated enemy, while a combined group infiltrated the facility itself…

Alas,

and in the end…

they succeeded.

The threat of the Institute

was finally put to rest…

When the dust settled, the Minutemen and Brotherhood brought the Commonwealth back on its feet, and the Railroad took charge of the remnant synths.

Though highly reluctant, Arthur agreed to the peace terms Preston set that they stay out of the Railroad's way,

stating they needed not

another war.

XXX


	6. Part Five:

Arthur was in a far lighter mood at the victory, and had allowed a celebration shortly after the success and stability,

as well as the memorial for those who had fallen in battle.

He observed from afar as his soldiers mingled and cheered happily, quite content himself. He was on the top floor, everyone avoiding bothering him.

His eyes scoured the crowd with little interest, till his eyes caught sight of her. She was in the crowd, near the liquor with her comrades, smiling, laughing, her hair down and an ease to her step.

For some reason, he couldn't look away.

Due to recent events, he hadn't time to properly process what had happened between them.

The kiss.

It shouldn't have happened, but it did, and it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would, aside from the jump in his heart whenever he'd recall it. He couldn't tell if it was excitement, or concern. He felt he had no time for such things in his life, no room, but that night, with the crowd below at ease, and his quest in the Commonwealth made much less challenging with the Institute's departure,

problems simply couldn't kick down the door.

"Oh my god, Claire," Jenna called.

"What?" Claire asked, downing the contents of her cup then eyeing it in disgust.

"Don't look now, but I'm pretty sure Maxson's staring **right** at you." Doing the exact opposite of what her friend said, Claire turned to glance right at him. "God, I **just** said **don't **look!" Jenna exclaimed, quickly looking away.

On the other hand, Claire had thought of the kiss numerous times, sometimes for the fun of it, sometimes in wonder of more, if they could ever **be **more, sometimes in consideration of his own thoughts regarding what had happened.

Did he regret it? Did he like it? Would he let it happen again? Had she crossed a line?

Sometimes her questions scared her, but what with the war, she was, as everyone, always preoccupied.

That was over now.

Now, there was time to think,

time to talk.

Claire held his gaze firmly, and flashed him a mischievous smile, causing his heart to skip a beat, and him to look away. He found his mind was suddenly filled with vivid memories of the kiss, and had the fleeting feeling everyone could see them too, so then he turned to leave altogether. _'Oh no you don't,_' thought Claire. She quickly set her cup aside and rushed to the stairs, ignoring her friends, who were calling after her.

"Arthur!" she called. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, not expecting she'd actually come after him. There was no one in the hallway, but this was still risky, as anyone could pass at any second.

She didn't care, and he didn't consider it.

"Congratulations," she smiles brightly, honestly taking his breath away and though he'd hate to admit it. She just looked so…well, attractive. She didn't look like a soldier,

she looked like a **woman**,

at least that night. She wore skinny black pants that hugged her thighs and hips, black, leather boots that stopped below her knees, a tight black blouse that teasingly accented her cleavage. Her auburn hair was a wavy, silk silhouette caressing her sharp cheekbones, and the eyeliner she wore put great emphasize on just her eyes. Then, of course, there was the wine-red lipstick. "We won," she finished her statement, snapping him out of it. His eyes didn't linger long enough for her to catch him admiring her, then he spoke up.

"Indeed, we have. But there is still much work to be done. Enjoy your night, Paladin. You'll be given new assignments tomorrow," he instructs. Calling her paladin did not bother her, he'd been doing it lately due to the ops and what not.

"Wow, you sure know how to party," she sarcastically told. Arthur eyed her in dismiss.

"I've no time for partying, Foster," he stated.

"Oh, no, god forbid Elder Maxson on the dance floor!" she glares humorously. The statement caught him off guard, and he felt his chest vibrate with persistent laughter, released in a small chuckle that widened her grin and made her eyes sparkle in joy.

_'God, that smile,'_ her heart ached.

She took another step towards him, a narrow blanket of air their only separator. Once again, his mind put the memory on replay, and his heart rate increased greatly. He watched her curiously, watched her eyes fall to his lips and stay there for a minute before she forced them back up and spoke quietly. "You know, a really drunk part of me wanted to dance with you tonight," she confessed. The lust in her eyes was rare, but regardless, it moved something in him, something nagging, pushing him to close the distance and consume those bright red lips begging to be kissed.

But he didn't.

Arthur exhaled from tension and looked to the side as he often did.

"Claire," he called in warning, but it completely went over her head

as this was the first or second time

in **four** years,

he'd used her first name…

She felt her head grow light,

and in that very moment,

she was willing to throw all caution into the wind,

and kiss him again…

But then she heard approaching voices, and in lightning speed, she was two feet away, and saluting him. "Yes, Elder Maxson. I will be sure to look into it," she told. When he too caught sight of people who were eyeing him warily, as always, he played along, and nodded at her.

"See to it, Paladin," he confirmed. She turned on her heel and walked the other way.

The approaching soldiers saluted him and he nodded at them, his eyes averting back to her departing figure.

At the end of the hall, she touched the wall and turned to face him, flashing him another smirk before she walked away, causing his reasonable mind to scold him for childishly playing along with her tag and hide game.

XXX

The next day, in the afternoon, Arthur had been spreading tasks upon his men, ops like hunting down escaped synths that were still biased to the Institute, or sweeping the Institute itself for technology. Others were tasked with finding the bodies of fallen Brothers, and so on.

That night, the men were reporting back, and at some point it was her turn. Lancer-Captain Kells was in the room, Arthur's second in command and most trusted.

There was something about the way Arthur's face eased up upon her entrance, and the tug of a smirk at the Paladin's lips every few seconds during their conversation that had grasped the old man's attention.

It was the first time Kells had noted something, and had kept an eye out ever since.

XXX


	7. Part Six:

Several days passed. Arthur and Claire's semi-relationship was on a steady pace. Exchanged missions, her usual smiling and post-mission humor-filled banter that he rarely retaliated, but subconsciously appreciated. It might have been the late night talks, in his office or the outer deck, that a handful of people had merely spotted, that soon had the Brotherhood making assumptions. Not to mention, the public glances. Arthur rarely showed emotions aside from anger, irritation, or determination, but he did when he looked at her. It wasn't just some form of pride or respect, there was more to it and many noticed.

It was two weeks before Kells's ears finally picked up the rumors, and just the day after, he was at Arthur's door.

Mason Kells was around when Arthur was just a squire. He was one of the few people that did not support Arthur taking lead. It was not easy, but Arthur had finally managed to earn his trust and respect. He wanted to. He greatly respected Mason, as did many others. The man was wise and experienced. In a way, Arthur looked up to him, and took his advice to heart. So, when Mason faces Arthur with said rumors, he listens.

Despite denying any validation to them, Mason does not believe him, or at least assumes it was what Arthur actually thought. Regardless, he informs Arthur of how inappropriate it is that the Elder be fooling around, gives some colorful examples of what was being said behind his back, and reminds him that the Brotherhood was counting on him.

Claire herself shooed away all and any rumors that she too had heard and was confronted with by a handful, stating that Arthur was too busy a man, too dedicated to his work, and telling them that they were being pity and out of line.

Only her friends knew the truth, some of it anyways. It was Hank who advised her against further pursuing Arthur, that it could ruin her reputation, that he could reject her, that it wasn't worth it. She didn't listen to him.

Maybe she should have.

At a day like any other, Claire was debriefing after a mission, and she started at her usual attitude towards him. The smiling, the asking if he was okay, the biting her lower lip.

For the first time, Arthur saw what the people saw, or at least he thought he did.

"Seriously. What's wrong?" her tone fell to concern, which annexed Arthur further, as it felt as though things between them were getting out of hand.

She eyed his tense features worriedly, wondering what had him so flipped out. His brows were tightly knitted together, his jaw was clenched, lips were pursed, hands clenched behind his back, and he seemed to be in deep thought.

After a long moment, he finally speaks up. "Are you aware of what is being said behind your back?" he starts, confusing her in the process. She is worried then, assuming he'd maybe heard something about her that had him angry with her, or maybe he was just jealous again. Didn't seem like it though; this seemed more serious.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

Arthur squinted his eyes in discomfort, facing the wall still.

Of all the orders he's had to issue, he was suddenly awfully aware what he was about to do, actually second-guessed his decision for a moment.

But whatever it was between them…it wasn't worth their reputation.

Was it?

As he thought of what to say, she'd thought of what he **would** say. She went through all that had happened the past few days.

It hit her then, a well placed suspect. Just two days before, she was faced with another accuser regarding her relationship with Arthur.

…Of course…

It made so much sense now.

Even if she was wrong, it wasn't exactly odd of her to discuss this with him.

And honestly, she didn't fully think it would be that much of an issue.

Besides, it was kind of amusing, maybe even exciting to her. She couldn't help smirking.

"You mean that people think we're sleeping together?" she asks, tone playful as she crossed her arms. Saying it out loud caused his eyes to slightly widen at her bluntness, yet, the sharpness of what was being implied, the vivid images momentarily consuming his thoughts before he shoved them away and faced her sternly. Although also momentarily distracted by similar thoughts, she could tell it was bothering him, so, she said: "They're just rumors, Arthur. Ignore them."

"It's Elder, Paladin, and you will address me accordingly," he demanded quietly, almost reluctantly.

Until then, Claire didn't take the whole conversation to heart. "Seriously?" she mocked.

Arthur did not reply, his gaze empty and afar. The people were right. He was too lenient with her. Calling him Arthur, joking, not taking him seriously, addressing him as though a friend, or a romantic partner.

It was unprofessional. Highly.

It wasn't about the rules for Claire though,

this was about them.

The two of them.

She regarded him for a moment, checking to see if he was truly, completely being serious.

Then,

she realized he was…

…

Something in her snapped, hard.

She felt angry. Furious, and she wasn't even entirely aware why.

But it quickly became clear.

She looked to the side, pinched her nose, then crossed her arms again. "Okay, but I have one thing to say. May I?" she asked.

Something told him he'd regret letting her, but he nodded anyways. "You used me," she accused sternly. He is taken aback, by both her words, and her tone.

"E-Excuse me?"

"Yeah. You **let** me get close to you, agreed that we'd be more open and honest with each other-"

"I never agreed-"

"But we **were**, Arthur!" she glared.

He couldn't recall ever seeing her this upset…It bothered him, bothered him that she was.

"And, suddenly, when it doesn't **seem** right in public-eye, you toss me aside with no regards whatsoever to how that would make me **feel**," she sternly told. Arthur finds no words to counter her accusation. "You're selfish…"

That hit him hard in the chest.

Then

she fixed her posture,

the red in her frustrated cheeks fading as she said: "I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, Elder. It won't happen again."

Her eyes.

All former warmth they held for him was gone, replaced with a cold, steel gaze that made his heart ache in sorrow.

She turned on her heel to leave.

"Claire!" he barked out before being able to bite his tongue, causing her to freeze in her tracks.

She was furious with herself, and the hurt set in then.

She let this happen…She let herself get close to him…She should have known he'd let her down…Hank was right…

She momentarily glanced at the ceiling as she took in a steadying breath. _'God, I'm so stupid.'_ She turned to face him again. "Yes, Elder?" she innocently inquired.

_'…_

_ So that's how it's gonna be?...'_

his mind wondered in disappointment.

What was he expecting?

That she'd go like 'Yes, Elder. You're absolutely right.'

…

That's not what he wanted either…

But

he never put his wants first,

just what needed to be done.

…

…And was **this** **really** necessary?

…There was no taking back what was said now, and his point did not vanish.

It **was** inappropriate, despite what either of them thought or wanted.

She still stood expectantly waiting for what he'd say.

Would he take it back?

She doubted it,

and she was right.

He shook his head…

"Nothing…

You're dismissed," he turned away from her gaze.

Her eyes saw sorrow, and her chest felt it.

She left.

XXX

A whole week passes, and, for Arthur, they felt like the worst few days in a long time.

He'd never felt more…**alone**…Actually alone…

Sometimes he'd get angry at the fact that this was all her fault…

and his…that she'd let him get used to having her around, to her caring…that he **let** her care…

Other times, when she was right there taking orders from him, and she eyed him as though a stranger, he'd feel a volcano erupt in his chest, and when she was gone, his heart complained and nagged him,

that he missed her.

Yes, she differed with him, different **around** him. Colder. Careless.

Many noticed the tide change, but she didn't care.

The rumors drifted, and soon died down.

Well, he got what he wanted…

…Did he?

XXX


	8. Part Seven:

"Elder Maxson!" exclaimed Michael upon barging into the command deck. Arthur turns from speaking to Kells, glaring at the intrusion.

"I'm sorry, Elder. He wouldn't leave," the guard stated.

"What is the meaning of this, aspirant?" he demanded of Michael.

"It's Claire-uh-Paladin Foster," the panicked boy corrects himself, "She's in medical bay and she's in pretty bad shape," he explains in haste.

Though it was generally unclear why this would be the Elder's concern, everyone in that room, even the guard, knew how the news would affect Arthur.

XXX

Watching from behind the glass window of the medical bay, Arthur's hands were firmly clasped behind his back, consistently clenching and unclenching from **extreme** tension. Michael had explained why the mission had gone south, and that, in order to save them, Claire nearly risked her life, as she ended up with a severe gun-shot wound to the abdomen, and lost a lot of blood along the way. Him, her unit, her friends, and a few others were sent away and waiting anxiously for news, and only Arthur, and Kells by his side, watched Knight-Captain Cade operate on her.

Once the bullet was out, and she was supplied with a suitable amount of blood, Kells was put at ease, but Arthur was still on edge.

It was the way they left things.

…She could have died on that op…

…

Regret wasn't something he was accustomed to, but it is precisely what he was feeling as he watched her weakened body desperately clench onto life,

regret that he pushed her away,

that he might have lost the chance to make amends

forever.

Kells had been studying him closely since the minute Michael mentioned her name.

It wasn't that he went or gave the matter attention (he always cared enough to check on his wounded soldiers and lend them words of encouragement) it was the **way** he did it, the concern that overcame him when he heard,

the horror,

the way he rushed out of the room without uttering a second word, not stopping to consider as he stormed the halls in haste and barked questions at Michael, the tension oozing from him as he watched her in so helpless a state.

It wasn't at all what the aged Captain had thought it was at first.

"She'll be alright, Arthur," Kells tried to assure. Arthur did not reply, his eyes glued to the woman behind the glass. "You care a great deal for her-"

"This is neither the time, nor the place Lancer-Captain Kells," Arthur insisted. Kells gave a light smirk. He turned his back to the glass and faced the young man.

"It was inappropriate when people thought you were just fooling around," he resumed regardless. Arthur glared heatedly at him. Kells was unfazed. "But you truly care for her, and that's far from wrong."

Arthur took in his words and faced the glass again, considering them.

…Yes…he did…

…He would no longer deny it…

XXX

"Thanks, guys," Claire weakly smiled at her friends, who had come to check up on her after she was strong and conscious enough the following day.

They continued to banter back and forth, and then there was the sudden mention of Arthur. "Yeah, and Michael said he'd get Arthur. We told him he shouldn't, but he did anyways, and well…" Jenna started.

"He seemed pretty damn worried about," Greyson grinned.

Claire wasn't sure what to do with that. A part of her was warmed by it, and the other was further hurt. He'd taunt her like this back and forth, never certain what he wants, and never careful what she'd end up with.

"Yeah, he was like, all glarey as usual, but like…more. And he wouldn't leave-" Jenna resumed. She cut her off tiredly.

"Yeah, I don't really…I don't really need to…" she trailed off when her eyes fell on the man spoken of by the doorway.

"Elder!" Greyson exclaimed, saluting alongside the others.

"At ease," he gave,

then fixed his gaze upon her.

The room grew heavy with silence as all watched their exchange curiously. "How are you feeling, Paladin?" he asks formally, though she could see it in his eyes, he was as worried as her friends had described. She avoided his gaze, feeling a weight on her chest.

"I'm doing well, sir. Thank you for asking," she quietly said. He nodded considerately, yet was pained that she refused to look at him.

"Okay, well. We'll, uh, check up on you…later," Hank states knowingly.

"Yeah!" Jenna supports.

"See ya, Claire," Michael smiles softly, and the four head to leave them intentionally alone.

Silence falls again.

Then, he attempts small-talk, a desperate attempt to get back a glimpse of what they had before. "Your teammates informed me of your actions on field, how you took a risk to save them," he praised. The weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pursed her lips and hummed while nodding:

"Mhm…"

"…Claire," he called for attention.

"**Don't**!" she hostilely warned. He is slightly taken aback by her outburst. "Just!..." she gasped, her eyes welling with sudden tears, her face reddening.

Arthur felt his troubled heart struggle in his chest, **hating** how brought down she was. It was worse to know that it was all his fault, that **he** was causing her pain. He looked to the side and clenched his jaw, collecting himself and calculating the actions he would take to get her to stop crying somehow…to get her to stop hurting…

to fix things.

His heart raised a hand for permission to speak, and for once, he let it. _'Hug her,'_ it said. _'Hold her. Just, hold her.' _

He wanted to…He indulged it.

And his mind pointed out: _'The door's wide open!'_

He heads for the door first, and she is too distracted wiping at her stubborn tears to notice as he heads for her next.

She hears him approaching and refuses still to make eye-contact. He stands to her side, and places a hesitant, but willing hand to her further cheek. Her skin jumps at the contact, but she herself remains still, allowing his thumb to wipe at a sole tear, allowing her senses to permit his warmth. Her mind failed to comprehend what was happening, but as he gently urged her to face him, she did.

Her glistering eyes met his soft gaze, and her heart ached in sudden relief, urging more streams down her reddened cheeks. She shut her eyes and let out a long sigh as he continued to caress her skin, wondering what in the world had kept him from her for so long. Her head held low and she sniffled, then she rested her forehead against his rigid abdomen. His other hand rose to rub at her back, filling her with inner warmth and security as he held her closely between his arms.

For a few moments, the world around them simply dissipated, all ethics, what should and shouldn't happen, all codes and rules and levels, all faded, everything…

everything but them…

The feeling was so foreign to Arthur, to **feel**…this deeply for someone…He no longer fought it in that moment. In that moment, he let it in…

He let her in…

The door to the clinic-room suddenly opened, and Captain Cade walked in to check up on his patient. Claire pulled away from Arthur, and for a second, he did indeed panic…but then, his hand remained firm on her back, rising to her head and patting down her soft, dark locks. She warily glanced between him and her doctor, who froze at the doorway as if he'd intruded on something that he only half-comprehended.

"Yes, Captain Cade?" Arthur encouraged. Claire snapped her wide eyes to him as though he'd lost his mind.

"Uhhh, just…here to check on Paladin Foster, Elder," Cade replied. Arthur nodded in approval.

"I'll be out of your way in a minute," he said.

"Uhhh, of course…sir," getting the hint, Cade left and closed the door behind him, waiting outside and wondering what the hell he'd just walked in on.

"Arthur, are you crazy?" Claire asked him in shock. He faced her, his gaze upholding that foreign warmth that she couldn't comprehend the sudden source of.

"…Maybe," he simply gave. Then he brushed a strand of her hair away from her forehead to behind her ear. His knuckles brushed her cheek in certain wonder as he spoke: "I'll be back to check up on you tomorrow…Get some rest, Claire," he told.

For a moment, she actually assumed she was hallucinating, hearing him say these things, treat her this way...He left her speechless as he reluctantly turned to leave.

XXX


	9. Epilogue:

The next day, he did indeed visit her in the afternoon. Cade had kept quiet, but Arthur knew it wouldn't be long before word got out about his stark behavior with Claire.

He didn't care, and was firm on the fact that his decisions weren't to be questioned if there was no drastic reason to do so, and this was no one's business but his, and hers.

She'd asked him then, about his sudden change of heart, and he confessed that he decided that what they had wasn't worth fighting off anymore…The joy she felt then was like nothing she'd ever experienced before…Three large words were on the tip of her tongue, meant just for him, but she held back on the timing…

Then they casually chatted. What about other than the Brotherhood and their quests in the Commonwealth?

He was so much more open though whilst discussing missions, what concerned him, who he thought slacked off, who he thought worked hard.

He was trying, he **wanted** to be open with her, and it made her feel as though she was about to get to know a whole other version of Arthur, one that didn't fight against her at every other turn…

…one that gave her a key to his heart.

And he?…He found she listened, really listened, like she always said she was willing to…She listened to, comforted, laughed with, and advised him.

He never regretted his decision to be with her.

Soon enough, the rumors started again, causing new problems, like envy, accusing Maxson of allowing Claire benefits simply because he fancied her, claims that Arthur was easily swoon by a woman.

Kells advices him, and the decision they stood on was one that was sure to shut everyone up.

He married her.

Good luck saying a word against the Elder's wife.

XXXXX

Author: "Don't forget to like and Comment!"


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